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The ride to London from Bad Wolf Bay takes more than a day. They take a bus and a train and another bus, Rose and her mum and this new Doctor: they would’ve flown, but the Doctor doesn't have any papers.
Rose spends the whole trip letting her head bump against shaking windows, the Doctor’s side brushing against her. They barely talk.
They're on the train overnight. Rose’s mum sleeps, snoring loudly in the train car. Rose doesn't. She's not sure about the Doctor: every time she tries to look at him, her gaze skitters away. She just keeps staring out at the blurry landscape, not speaking, barely moving.
The final bus pulls into London, and it's seven at night. Rose still hasn’t slept; maybe she dozed off, once or twice, but not enough to count.
“Your dad’s waiting for me,” Jackie says, her eyes fixed on Rose. “You’ll be all right?”
Rose glances at the Doctor. He's looking resolutely away, staring at a billboard advertising some law firm or another.
“Yeah,” she says. “We’ll manage.”
Jackie pulls Rose into a tight hug. “Come round soon, all right?” She steps back. Glances at the Doctor. “When you’ve had a chance to settle.”
“‘Course,” Rose says. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.” Jackie hovers for another moment. For a second, she looks at the Doctor like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t: she just says, “I’ll see you later, then,” and walks away.
Rose turns to the Doctor.
“C’mon, then,” she says, tiredly taking his hand. “You hungry? There’s a chippy on the way home.”
“Chips,” he says, his voice soft. His hand is heavy in hers, heavy and warm. “Yes.”
“Right.” Rose tugs on his arm. “Let’s go.”
Her place isn’t too far from where the bus has left them. The chippy is even closer, and she sits across from the Doctor in a booth lined with red vinyl, picking at her food. Normally, she’d love this: fish and chips are her absolute favorite, and an old tradition between her and the Doctor. But today she slumps against the wall, her eyelids drooping, and she can barely look at the man in front of her, much less hold a coherent conversation.
“Sorry,” she finally manages. “I know you didn’t want this.”
The Doctor shifts in his seat. He’s not really looking at her either: his eyes are still wandering the chippy, taking in the pictures on the walls, the other customers. “It’s not how I thought my day would end, no.”
Rose nods. She looks down at her chips, a lump rising in her throat. She swallows it back down. “We’ll have to get you paperwork,” she says. “You’ll need a name. Can probably get you a job at Torchwood, if you like.” She takes a bite of a chip, chews it slowly, swallows. “‘Course, we don’t have to deal with any of it tonight.”
“One step at a time,” the Doctor agrees.
“One step at a time.”
It’s dark by the time they leave the chippy. Rose keeps half stumbling, her exhaustion getting the best of her: after the fourth time, the Doctor asks if she’s all right, and she insists she’s fine.
They go up in the elevator to her flat, and Rose fumbles with her keys. It’s lucky she kept them with her, in all her jumps between universes. It’s lucky she didn’t know for sure which trip was going to be successful, lucky she didn’t know for sure whether the Doctor would actually want her back. If she’d been more certain on either count, she might’ve left her keys at Torchwood, and then she and this new Doctor would be completely out of luck until morning came.
“Right,” she says, stepping through the door, sliding her blue leather jacket off her shoulders. “Home sweet home.” She says it with a twist of irony. This isn’t much of a home at all: it’s tiny, for one thing, with empty white walls and barely any furniture in the living room. Just a dingy loveseat that the last tenants left, and a solitary lamp next to it. She’s aware of the Doctor behind her, looking around, and then she steps into her bedroom and stops in her tracks.
She closes her eyes and leans her head back, turning so it hits the wall with a thud. “Of course,” she mutters. She’s forgotten, in the haze of exhaustion, what she’s actually working with here. “I’ve only got a bloody twin.”
The offending bed sits, perfectly made, in the corner of the small, nearly-empty bedroom. It’s got a plain brown bedspread, and a nightstand next to it with a lamp and a book: on the other side of the room is a door leading to the closet and then Rose’s desk, which is maybe the only thing in this whole flat that looks like it gets any use. She’s got papers spread all over, charting her routes through different universes, keeping track of where she’s been and where she hasn’t been and what she’s seen. She has the urge, now, to sweep them away, hide them before the Doctor goes over and sees the full weight of her desperation to get out of this universe, but before she can, she hears the Doctor step into the room, feels his presence next to her. She opens her eyes.
“Sorry,” she says, for the second time that night. “I can— I can sleep on the floor.”
“No,” the Doctor says, right away. “Not after the day you’ve had. I’ll take the floor.”
Rose fixes him with a look. “Not after the day you’ve had. Trust me, I’ve slept on worse.” Traveling between universes, she didn’t always have a consistent place to sleep: she’s slept in the backs of cars, underneath bushes, in diner booths.
“Not when you’re this tired.” The Doctor nudges her. “It won’t be good for either of us if you’re grouchy tomorrow.”
Rose rolls her eyes. “Won’t be good if you’re grouchy tomorrow either. You’re human now, remember? Can’t get by on no sleep like you used to.” She sighs. “Suppose we can add a new bed to the list of things to see about tomorrow.” She turns to leave. There’s not much in the living room, but there’s definitely a blanket— and she’s not really short enough that the loveseat would be comfortable sleeping, but if she curls up just right—
“Rose,” the Doctor says, and she turns to face him, startled into looking him in the eye for the first time since the beach. He looks— disoriented, maybe, in a way she’s only seen a few times before. “What are you doing?”
“Just—” She waves a hand. “Sorting through my options.”
“I think—” He cuts off. “I mean, if you’d like—” He glances to his right, through the open bedroom door. “I wouldn’t mind sharing.”
Rose raises her eyebrows. Even during her best moments with the Doctor, she’s not sure they could’ve both fit on a twin bed for a full night. “Doctor, there’s no room.”
“I know.” He swallows, and Rose watches his face, waiting for him to find the words he needs. “But we don’t have a ton of options. And I—” He looks down. His voice quiets. “I think I’ll sleep better if you’re there.”
Rose can’t help but feel a flutter in her stomach to hear him say it. And when she glances back at the loveseat, it’s clear she doesn’t really have a better option.
“Fine,” she says. All the energy’s gone out of her body. “It’ll do for tonight.” She pushes past him and into her bedroom, opening the door to her closet and rummaging through some drawers until she finds the sweats and T-shirt she usually wears to bed. “I haven’t got pajamas for you,” she says over her shoulder. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” he says, his voice quiet behind her. “I’ll sleep in my trousers.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, his tone dry, “I’ve slept in worse.”
She rolls her eyes to hear her own words parroted back. She turns to see him sitting at the end of the bed, pulling off his shoes.
“Right,” she says, holding her clothes in a bundle under her arm. “I’m desperate for a shower. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
“Me?” He shakes his head, half a smile on his lips. “Never.”
In the bathroom, Rose turns on the shower. She peels off her pink T-shirt and black trousers. They don’t feel like the same clothes she put on two days ago, to make her last hop between the dimensions: they’re changed. She’s changed. Sure, her skin is still the same as it was before, her hair the same length, her eyes the same light brown— but she is no longer the woman who launched herself from universe to universe with nothing but a dimension cannon and a gun.
She’s just Rose, exhausted, trying her best.
She doesn’t take long in the shower. She doesn’t want to leave the Doctor alone for too long— she’s responsible for him now, another person dropped in this universe. Or— she probably doesn’t have to be responsible for him. She didn’t really have much choice in the matter, after all; she would be well within her rights to walk away, to tell him he’s got to figure things out on his own.
But— she feels responsible for him. And some part of her, somewhere deep down, sort of wants to be.
He’s been responsible for her for long enough, after all. It’s about time someone turned the tables.
She washes her hair, scrubs her body. She can’t help but think she’s washing the last of her home universe off of her. She already mourns the loss. This universe is— well, she doesn’t know what it is. She’s spent most of her time here grieving. She hasn’t exactly gone out to explore. But… it’s not familiar. It doesn’t feel like home. Maybe it will, someday. But right now it feels… distant.
She steps out of the shower and dries herself off. She hates going to bed with wet hair, but she’s too tired to deal with drying it properly tonight. So she just does the best she can with her towel, and then she pulls on her sweats and her T-shirt and takes a deep breath.
This is going to work out. It has to.
Rose goes back out into her room, half-dizzy with exhaustion. The Doctor is there, sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He’s stripped down to his T-shirt, but for some reason, his socks are still on. It’s weird, seeing him here. Rose always assumed that if she got back to the Doctor, she’d stay with him in the TARDIS: there’d be no need for him to come back here, no need for him to see the blank walls and the twin bed and the nearly-empty kitchen. He wouldn’t need to see the physical evidence of how desperate she was, how single-mindedly focused she was on getting back to him.
But now he’s here, sitting right in the middle of the evidence, and Rose is kicking herself for assuming she’d never need room for a second person here. To be fair, she’s not sure anyone could’ve predicted the “Doctor gets a human clone” turn of events, but still.
The Doctor moves over towards the wall, making room for Rose. He’s turned the lamp on; she flicks the main light off and heads for the bed, gingerly sitting on the edge.
“You all right?” he asks quietly.
Rose hesitates. “I don’t know yet,” she says, her voice quiet in response. She looks at him, this new Doctor, a man who both did and didn’t exist three days ago. He has the Doctor’s face, the face she’s spent years trying to find— and his voice, that beautiful voice, and his really great hair. He’s looking at her in the same way he always has, but there’s not a chance she’s the only thing on his mind. She turns to him, pulling her legs up onto the bed, folding them in front of her. “How about you? It’s not every day you get cloned and dumped off in a parallel universe.”
There’s a long pause. His body shifts as he angles himself towards her. “I’m adjusting,” he says. He hesitates. “The thing is, Rose, I—” He shakes his head. “You know this is what I always wanted, don’t you?”
Rose stares at him, her mouth open. Her exhaustion still hovers around her, but she pushes it away, willing herself to get through this conversation. She speaks slowly, the words only coming to her as fast as they can push through the fog that’s built up over the last few days of lots of action and little sleep. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” He sits up straighter, gesturing with his hands. “I spent so many years wishing I could be with you. Properly. And I couldn’t, because I was always just going to outlive you, wasn’t I?” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I always sort of wanted to be a regular human.”
“But—” Rose shakes her head. “The travel? The TARDIS?”
“We can still travel,” he says. “If you want to. Might be slower, but—” He shrugs. “We’ve got time.”
Rose feels a slow smile appearing on her face. “Yeah, suppose we do.” She pauses. “But, Doctor— you really— you’re okay with giving all that up? Immortality, time travel? For me?”
“It’ll be an adjustment,” he repeats. “Not sure I’ve wrapped my head around it properly. But—” He dips his head, lowering his voice. “Yeah. I’d do anything, Rose. If it meant I could be with you.”
Rose swallows. She’s always sort of hoped, deep down, the Doctor might feel that way about her— the same way she feels about him. She never let the hope become too real, even as her feelings grew, even as his affection became clearer and clearer. She always knew the Doctor wasn’t the sort to get into a human relationship, no matter how much he liked the human. Really, the best she was hoping for, jumping across the universes, was that he’d be happy to see her.
And he was.
And he still is.
She looks at him for another long moment. Everything still feels strange. She never expected to have guests in this place, not least the Doctor; she never expected to have him with her on Earth, part of any kind of human life. She’s always assumed she’d be in his world, in the TARDIS, traveling.
“It’ll be a lot to get used to,” she says. “For both of us.” Slowly, carefully, she leans against his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “But I think— I think I’m looking forward to it.”
His hand makes its way around her waist, and he pulls her closer. She curls up against him, and she feels the briefest brush of his lips against her forehead.
“Me too,” he whispers, and the force of his conviction would have knocked her right over if his body weren’t supporting her so completely.
He shifts, bringing Rose with him so they’re both lying down, pressed together to avoid falling off the twin bed. Rose winds up draped over him, her head on his chest, one leg flung across both of his. He shifts, jostling her, and she reaches to turn off the lamp and winds up rolling too far and losing her balance. She almost falls off the bed, except he’s there, his arm still around her waist, catching her, holding her steady. She giggles, and once she’s started she can’t stop, delirious with confusion and relief and lack of sleep. When she looks back at him, he’s smiling, and suddenly she’s hit with a complete disbelief that she’s really here in her bed with him, with the Doctor, and he’s so tangible , and— yeah, she really needs to go to sleep. Finally, she manages to turn off the light, and she curls against the Doctor’s chest again.
She falls asleep in a matter of minutes.
She wakes up to a single heartbeat under her ear and gentle fingers brushing through her hair. She sits straight up, panic running through her: she sleeps alone. She always sleeps alone. She sleeps alone, because—
“Rose?”
Oh. Because the only person she would want to sleep near isn’t with her, except that he is, and now he’s staring up at her, frowning.
“Sorry.” She lies down, rests her head back on his chest, lets his single heartbeat thud against her ear. “Not used to waking up with anyone.”
“We used to wake up together,” he reminds her. “Every so often.” They did, back on the TARDIS— mostly because she fell asleep on his shoulder watching a film, and he would’ve rather let the universe implode around him than disturb her while she slept.
“It’s been two years, remember?” Rose pokes at his chest. The jolt of adrenaline is going away, leaving her with a lovely sort of sleepiness. She nestles closer to the Doctor, and, tentatively, his hand returns to her hair.
“Too long,” he says.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you hopping universes to get to me.” She means it as a joke, but when he stiffens underneath her, his hand freezing against her scalp, she knows she’s gone too far.
“I wanted to.” His voice is raw, suddenly, tinged with emotion. “Rose, you have to believe— I spent months trying to find a way through. Tried to go back on our timelines. Tried to tear another hole in the universes. Best I could do was pop up as a hologram on Bad Wolf Bay.”
“Doctor, it’s all right.” Rose props herself up on her elbow, letting herself look at him properly for the first time that morning. He looks young, somehow, the freckles on his face lit by the sun as it trickles in through the curtains. Young, even as he frowns, even as he holds back tears. “It’s all right,” Rose repeats. She reaches out to touch his forehead, running her fingertips across his skin, down his cheek. “I believe you.”
He nods. She watches him swallow, his eyes studying her face, and then he rolls to lie on his side. He reaches up, pulling her down by her waist until she’s lying down facing him, their noses almost touching.
“I missed you,” he whispers. “So much. I’m probably still missing you, in the other universe.”
“I know,” Rose whispers back. “I missed you too.” She hesitates. “Why did he— I mean, the other you— why did he send us back here? If you wanted me back that badly—”
“I think—” the Doctor pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I— he— he didn’t want to get hurt. He would’ve thought it was better to lose you now, when he knew you had a shot at happiness, when he knew he needed to figure out what to do with me , than to lose you later, after years of falling more and more in love.”
“You—” Rose closes her eyes. Her voice comes out barely a whisper. “You’re in love with me?”
The Doctor stares. “Rose,” he says, full voice. “I already said I loved you. What did you think that meant?”
“Doctor,” Rose says, laughing, “there’s a difference between loving and being in love.”
“C’mon,” the Doctor scoffs. “How much more obvious did I need to get? Rose, I took you to Woman Wept. I died for you. What did you think that was?”
“I sort of thought you would’ve done that for anyone,” Rose mumbles. Off the Doctor’s incredulous look, she adds, “ Yes , I know how I sound. But still.” She prods his side. “You're the one who couldn't even say it.”
“Yes, well, I was also facing down the next thousand years of grief, wasn't I?”
That shocks the smile off Rose’s face. “Thousands of years? Surely you wouldn't have—”
“Oh, yes, I would.” The Doctor closes his eyes. “Rose, I still miss everyone I've ever traveled with. Even if I just knew them for a few days. When I start to feel— when my—” He opens his eyes, wide and earnest. “I tried so hard,” he says. “Not to fall in love.”
Rose thinks about his other self, living out the next thousand years with his grief, picking up more people to mourn along the way. A hollow feeling settles in her stomach. “I can imagine.”
“‘Course,” the Doctor adds, “it was pretty much impossible not to fall in love with you.”
That hollow feeling is still there, but now it's accompanied by a gorgeous warmth. Rose’s face tips into a smile, and she pushes closer to the Doctor, their noses almost touching. “Oh, I'm irresistible, am I?”
She watches him break into a smile. He runs his fingers along the edge of her hair, smoothing it down, away from her face, his eyes never leaving hers. She feels every touch as heat against her skin.
“You know you are,” he says, his voice low. “Caused me no end of trouble, I'm telling you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rose grins back at him. There’s that old spark dancing in his eyes, and for a moment she’s overcome with how much she’s missed him, how much she’s wanted to see those eyes, that smile. She’s mesmerized by him, really, especially when he’s this close to her.
He nods, just once, a sharp and decisive motion, and she laughs. For a moment, they’re both laughing, their foreheads bumping together— and then Rose sits up, holding out a hand for the Doctor to do the same.
“C’mon,” she says. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Lots to do.” She raises her eyebrows at his T-shirt. “First thing, we’re getting you some new clothes.”
He sits up with a heavy sigh. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“What,” Rose scoffs, “you just want to go around in the same old unwashed trousers all the time?” She shakes her head. “Sorry, Doctor. If you’re supposed to stay with me forever, you’re going to need more than one pair of underwear.”
“Well, I—” He stammers. “I’m not disputing that , I just—”
Rose rolls her eyes. “Promise we’ll find you the closest thing we can to six copies of the exact same suit.” After another moment of consideration, she adds, “But I’m also buying you at least one pair of jeans.”
He makes a face. “Never worn jeans. Not sure I’ll like them.”
“Then you’ll never wear them, and we’ll wind up giving them to a charity shop or something.” Rose bumps her shoulder against his. “But there’s a whole world of clothing opening itself up to you, if you’re willing to branch out even a little bit. You could wear casual clothes. Comfy clothes, even.”
His grimace only grows stronger. “I’m not— comfy .”
“But you could be,” Rose sings. She gets up and stretches before moving to her closet, rummaging through her own clothes until she finds a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved button down. She holds up both pieces, second-guessing, and then she shakes her head and tucks them under her arm. The Doctor always liked her before, no matter what she was wearing— surely the same will apply now.
Still. Everything feels so momentous now. Every movement feels laden with meaning. It’s not hard to believe that wearing the wrong shirt could send everything off in a completely awful direction.
Rose sighs. Right or wrong, she’s committing. She goes into the bathroom and changes her clothes, and then she looks in the mirror and realizes how much of an absolute mess her hair is. She never should’ve let herself go to bed with it wet, no matter how tired she was. She runs her hairbrush through it until it’s at least not just a mass of knots, and then she brushes her teeth, watching herself in the mirror all the while.
When she goes back into the bedroom, the Doctor is standing up, pulling on his jacket. It’s a bit rumpled, and Rose smiles to see it. He’s fussing with the buttons, but when she steps up to him and starts smoothing out the fabric on his chest with her palm, his focus snaps to her. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, and she lets her head rest on his chest, listening once again to that single heartbeat. A part of her still expects to hear the too-quick two-hearted thumping she remembers, but this Doctor’s heartbeat is slow, steady, even as it seems strange.
She chuckles to herself. She can feel the Doctor move to look down at her, and she can imagine the puzzled look on his face as he asks, “What?”
“Was just thinking,” she says, still pressed close to him, still with her head against his chest. “It’s funny that I’m listening to your normal human heartbeat and thinking it sounds weird. By all rights, your old heartbeat should’ve sounded weirder.”
He laughs, somehow managing to pull her in even closer. “We’ve still got to adjust,” he says.
“I’m not complaining,” Rose replies. She steps back and moves to her nightstand, picking up her wallet and keys and phone to drop into her pockets. She opens another drawer and pulls out a wad of cash, stuffing that, too, into her pocket. It comes from her wages: she never bothered setting up a bank account or credit card in this universe, instead opting to take cash payments and shove them into this drawer. It’s a short-term solution, but then again, she was always intending for this to be a short-term universe for her. “Right. We should probably get going. I can check the fridge, see if I’ve got anything for breakfast, but I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good.” She looks back up at him, pulling her hair back into a short ponytail with one hand. “We can stop somewhere, pick something up.”
“Sounds good to me.” He’s looking at her, watching as she goes through the motions of getting ready for the day.
“We’ll have to stop by Torchwood,” she adds, and she picks up the no-longer-functional dimension cannon in one hand. She looks the Doctor up and down. “They’ll want to know you’re here. And they’ll be able to help us get some documents so you can start living like a person and all that.” She raises her eyebrows. “Start thinking about when you want your birthday to be.”
He tilts his head to the side. “If I say next week, will you give me a party?”
“If you want a party, just say so.” Rose takes his hand. “We’ll call it a ‘welcome to the universe’ party.” She frowns. “Although we might be a bit busy, you know, with the actual welcoming you to the universe and all.”
“Got it.” He squeezes her hand. “Save the party for later.” He grins. “Suppose technically I was born a few days ago. What day was that?”
“Could check the logs on the dimension cannon,” Rose offers. “See what day it was in that universe.” She pauses, thinking. “Or we’ll just use the day we came back through.” She shrugs. “Honestly, I’ve lost track of the days. Don’t mean much when you spend half your life in other universes.”
She tugs on his hand, and together they start walking. Rose pulls on her jacket as they leave, tucking the remains of the dimension cannon into its pocket, and then they’re out on the street. As promised, Rose leads the Doctor to a little cafe where they can get breakfast— “Still haven’t got any cash, have you?” she teases him— and then they go to Canary Wharf, where this universe’s Torchwood is still alive and well.
“Right,” she says to the Doctor as they step into the bustling lobby. People are walking in every direction, through doors set in pristine white walls, and Rose joins them, leading the Doctor to the largest set of glass doors. “We’ve just got to go check in with my project manager, and then hopefully she’ll be able to help you get settled.” She fumbles with her wallet until she manages to pull out her ID card. She scans it, and the reader flashes green, and there’s a click as the door unlocks.
“That was very official of you, wasn’t it?” the Doctor asks as they step into a wide white hallway, elevators on both sides.
“Yeah, well, I work here,” Rose replies. She steps up to the elevator and scans her ID again before pressing the up button. She glances back at the Doctor, who’s giving her a goofy grin, and rolls her eyes. “Shut up. Without this job, you know I never would’ve found you, don’t you?”
“Well, then, I suppose I’m eternally grateful.”
Rose shakes her head. One of the elevator doors opens, and she makes sure she’s holding the Doctor’s hand before she tugs him inside: she still remembers vividly getting separated on New Earth, watching elevator doors close in her face before being unexpectedly disinfected and delivered on her own to a dingy basement room where Lady Cassandra laid in wait.
The Doctor leans against the elevator wall, still holding her hand as she stands in front of him.
“Do I need to be nervous?” he asks. “I think I’m rather nervous. Why am I nervous?”
“Nothing to be nervous about,” Rose promises. “Renee’s nice, really.”
“I don’t usually get nervous,” he says, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
“You’ve never been human before, have you?” Rose counters. The elevator doors open, and they step out into the hall together.
“Suppose not,” the Doctor says as they start walking. “Still. Don’t like it.”
“No one likes it.” Rose bumps her shoulder against his arm. “You’ve just got to figure out how to deal. C’mon, this way.”
She pulls him through a hallway to their right, and then she stops at a door that reads, Renee Peters: Special Projects. Rose knocks twice, and a muffled voice responds, calling out, “Come in.”
“You ready?” Rose murmurs.
“As I’ll ever be,” the Doctor replies.
Rose opens the door.
Renee Peters has known Rose for two years now. She was one of the first people Rose met at Torchwood, after she kept asking all the people she met before Renee how she could get her hands on a dimension jump. She knows everything about Rose’s mission to find the Doctor: she’s helped with most of it. So when Rose enters, holding the Doctor’s hand, Renee just leans forward, peering at him over the top of her glasses, and says, “Ah. Pete said you’d brought back a friend.”
“Yeah,” Rose says. She fishes the dimension cannon out of her pocket and leaves it on Renee’s desk. “Think we’ve got to retire this.”
Renee nods. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Rose obliges, and so does the Doctor, folding himself into one of the armchairs in front of Renee’s desk.
“I’ll file a report in the next few days,” Rose says. “Once I’ve gotten things settled. The full story is— well, it’s mad, really.”
Renee raises her eyebrows. “As mad as meeting Pete Tyler’s daughter who didn’t exist a week ago and is now demanding to speak to anyone who can get her into a parallel universe?”
Rose grimaces. She was at her absolute most desperate, when she started at Torchwood, and everyone could tell. She mellowed out a little bit after a while, but those first couple weeks were awful for her, and awful by extension for everyone she thought could help her. She’s forced her way into more than a few of Torchwood’s offices and meeting rooms. “Even by my standards, it’s mad,” she says.
“Right.” Renee leans back in her chair. “So, tell me this mad story.”
Rose does. She explains meeting Donna in a pocket universe, meeting Donna’s family in the right universe, finding the Doctor, watching him get shot. The Doctor interjects here with an in-depth— possibly too in-depth— explanation of regeneration, and the rest of the story is a back-and-forth, Rose giving a detail, the Doctor expanding, Rose correcting him, the Doctor giving off an exaggerated mock offense. Renee interjects with questions, once in a while, but mostly it's the Doctor and Rose, going back and forth. The Doctor explains the metacrisis, and Rose skillfully slips over the more complicated emotional details of being back in this universe.
Finally, they're done, and Renee raises her eyebrows.
“That's going to make quite the report.”
“Tell me about it,” Rose replies.
Renee directs them to the human resources department for the Doctor’s paperwork and the medical department for various tests and scans. Rose assures the Doctor, as they leave, that he doesn't actually have to do them, but he shakes his head.
“Aren't you just dying to know what's going on in here?” he asks, gesturing dramatically at his body.
“Suppose we'll go, then,” Rose replies.
HR is expecting them. Rose and the Doctor sit in uncomfortable chairs in front of a bored-looking man who ignores the Doctor’s jokes about not being human, technically , in favor of asking for his name.
“You going to use John Smith?” Rose asks, half-teasing.
“Er—” The Doctor looks at her, then away. “I was thinking about using Noble.” He kicks at the ground. “‘Cause, you know. Technically Donna would be my closest human relation. If we’re thinking about it in those terms.”
Rose looks at him for a long moment. There’s something subdued to the way he’s sitting, the way his eyes are darting around the room, landing anywhere but on Rose. It hits her, suddenly, that just like she’s had years without him, he’s had years without her , years during which he’s formed his own bonds. “All right,” she says. “Noble.”
“John Noble,” the Doctor adds, straightening up.
“You’re sure about John?” Rose asks. “I mean, you could go with anything.”
The Doctor leans back in his chair. “Nah. John’s a classic. Why go to the effort of finding a new name when I’ve got one right here?”
“All right, then,” Rose says. “John.”
Half an hour later, they leave, with the promise that a birth certificate, photo ID, and passport will be mailed to Rose’s address. They stop by the medical department and are told to set up an appointment, which they do: the Doctor is promised extensive genetic and temporal testing, to the best of Torchwood’s ability.
“So a tiny fraction of what the TARDIS could’ve done,” the Doctor mutters as they leave, and Rose elbows him.
“Oi, don’t be rude,” she says. “These people are just working with what they’ve got, and honestly, the technology is pretty much top of the line.”
They go back and check in with Renee. Rose promises she’ll be back at work next week, and equally that she’s going to do everything she can to bring the Doctor with her, and then she and the Doctor make their way to Henrik’s, which in this universe is completely intact.
“Still hate coming here,” she mutters as they step through the doors. “But it’s got the most options, hands down.”
“Oh, is this the same shop?” the Doctor asks, looking around. “Bigger than I remember.”
“Yeah, like you were paying attention,” Rose replies. She nudges him. “C’mon, menswear is this way.”
The Doctor is, as expected, an absolute nightmare in the shop. At first he stands away from the racks, refusing to say more than two words about anything Rose holds up to him; and then, as he starts to warm up to the idea, he starts filling his arms with just about everything in the store, irrespective of size, keeping up a running monologue about each item and what it reminds him of.
Finally, Rose manages to wrangle him into a dressing room, and she sits on a bench outside, kicking her feet as he changes. It’s a far cry from the sort of thing she was doing even a week ago, desperately jumping between universes, straining her eyes to perform maintenance on the dimension cannon, coming across countless people and creatures who wanted her dead. It’s a relief, really, to be sitting outside a Henrik’s dressing room, the most pressing concern being whether or not the Doctor’s picked out any trousers that’ll actually fit over his legs.
The door bangs open, and the Doctor steps out in a pair of jeans and a striped T-shirt.
“What do you think?”
Rose looks him up and down. He looks good , actually— she never thought to imagine the Doctor in anything but his pinstriped suit, but she’s clearly been missing out. There’s something about the way the shirt outlines his chest, the way the dark-wash jeans hang, that seems to bring out something new in him. She’s surprised by how much she likes it.
He rocks back on his heels, looking down. “That bad?” Rose realizes she’s just been staring.
“No,” she says, standing, taking two steps closer so she can smooth down the collar of the shirt with her hand. “No, you look—” She looks away, more flustered than she wants to admit. “You look great.”
“Oh.” He looks down at her, and she looks back up to see the barest beginnings of a smile on his face. “Really?”
She nods. “Really.” With a smirk, she adds, “Should’ve gotten you in jeans much sooner.”
He glances back into the dressing room. “Well, there’s plenty more where these came from.”
Rose laughs. “All right, then. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”
The Doctor disappears into the dressing room again, and Rose sinks back onto the bench. Over the course of the next hour, she’s treated to a full fashion show, featuring some of the most ostentatious patterns and poorly sized garments she’s ever seen, but interspersed with pieces that have Rose staring once more at the lines of the Doctor’s body, flushing as she realizes how completely transparent she is.
Finally, they’ve enough of a selection to clothe the Doctor for at least a week and a half, and Rose peels bills from the roll in her pocket to pay for them. They leave Henrik’s with three shopping bags each.
Back at Rose’s flat, the Doctor gets in the shower, armed with his new clothes, and Rose sits on the loveseat in the living room, her head leaned back, her eyes closed. So many thoughts occupy her mind that she can’t actually think any one of them— they just float by, disappearing the second she tries to grasp one.
She kicks off her shoes and pulls her knees up to her chest. It’s been a busy few days. There’s going to be a lot to process, once she manages to sit in one place long enough.
Eventually, she hears the Doctor’s footsteps as he comes out of the bathroom. He crosses into her room— she assumes to drop his old clothes in her hamper— and then he comes out into the living room, his hair still damp, wearing the T-shirt and jeans he tried on first.
Rose reaches up and takes his hand in hers, comforted by its solidity. He drops down next to her, slinging his arm over her shoulders, and she leans into him.
“You all right?” he asks.
Rose nods against his shoulder. “You?”
“Never better.”
Rose laughs. “To be fair, you’ve only got about four days to compare to.”
“That helps,” he admits. He draws her in closer.
“Your shirt’s soft,” Rose murmurs, her cheek against the cotton. “We chose well, at Henrik’s.”
“That we did.” He laughs, and she feels it rumble in his chest.
She lifts her head, looking at him, his eyes on her, his soft smile. There’s so much that needs saying, and Rose doesn’t know how to say it all— but she has to try. So she swallows, and she asks, “How’s this going to work, then?”
He looks back at her, his eyes frighteningly close. “How’s what?”
“I don’t know.” Rose rests her head back on his shoulder. “This. Us. In this universe.”
His shrug jostles her head, and she smiles.
“Depends,” he says. “How do you want it to work?”
Rose hesitates. “I— I don’t know yet. Is that all right?”
He squeezes her around the shoulders. “More than.”
She feels herself smiling. “How do you want it to work?”
“All I know,” he says, slowly, “is that I want to be with you. Beyond that, it doesn’t matter.” He hesitates. “Well, as long as it’s not boring. Having to wait for time to pass normally is bad enough already.”
Rose laughs. “Well, you’ve got me, at least.”
He pokes at her side. “Not going to start jumping across universes looking for the original?” It’s a joke, but there’s something real running through it, something that tells Rose exactly how much is riding on her answer.
“Nah.” She can’t pretend the thought didn’t cross her mind, during the days they spent traveling, but— “He wasn’t wrong, leaving us both here. I mean—” She knows what she wants to say, what she needs to say, but it’s all tangled up in her mind, struggling to get out. She absently reaches for the Doctor’s free hand, running her thumb along its back, feeling his rough skin, his body heat, and she speaks slowly, giving each word time to emerge. “I don’t really like not having a choice. But if he’d given me a choice, if he’d asked what I wanted, if I’d really had the time to think about it, and if I’d been choosing for myself and not for him—” She swallows. “I don’t know. I think I would’ve chosen this.”
“Really?” the Doctor asks, his voice low.
“Yeah.” Rose closes her eyes. “I don’t know. I feel—” She lets out a breath. “I feel awful for him. All alone. But— even if I went back there, I’d keep him company for maybe sixty years, and that’s if I didn’t fall into any more parallel universes. And he’d have to watch me grow old, knowing he never would. And then I’d die, and he’d be alone anyway.” She pauses. "It would've been worth it, of course, on my end. But, you know. I'm not the one who would've outlived him. So I get why he sent me here." She manages a laugh. “And what was he going to do with you? Can’t have two Doctors in the TARDIS. Two of you would’ve torn each other apart.”
The Doctor returns her laugh. “Suppose we would have.”
“So it’s better for us to be here,” Rose concludes. “Together.”
“Together,” the Doctor echoes.
They sit in silence for another moment, Rose still resting against the Doctor’s shoulder. He’s so tangible underneath her. It’s been years, since she’s been held like this, since she’s felt another body so close to hers. Years, because she was waiting for him.
“Is it—” Rose takes a breath. “Is it hard, being here? I mean— I don’t know. I’ve lived the human life before, but this is new to you, isn’t it?”
There’s a long pause before the Doctor responds. “It’s— different,” he says. “I’ve— well, technically I’ve been human before, but—”
Rose lifts her head again. “What?”
He gives her a small smile. “Long story. It’s a thing the TARDIS can do. Very different circumstances.”
“If you say so.”
“I’ll tell you later.” His smile grows, just for a moment. “I’ve got the rest of my life to tell you, haven’t I?”
Rose laughs. She rests her head on his shoulder again. “Yeah, suppose you do.”
“Anyway.” His fingers tap against her upper arm. “My point is, it’s different. This is— I suppose I’m thinking of it as an adventure. There’s loads to learn.” He turns his head slightly, and Rose feels his breath against her hair as he continues. “About this universe. About being human. About being with you.”
Rose feels her smile curling on her face. “An adventure.”
“Yeah.” For a moment, he’s silent. And then he says, “I was angry, at first.”
Rose falters. “What do you mean?”
“When he left us here,” the Doctor clarifies. “I understood why. Same brain. But that didn’t stop me from being angry.”
“Are you still?” Rose asks.
There’s another silence. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what I feel.” He lets out a rueful chuckle. “I’m adjusting, remember?”
Rose hums. “It’s a big adjustment.”
The Doctor squeezes her hand. “I’ll get there.”
“I want you to tell me,” Rose says. “If you’re ever feeling angry, or sad, or— anything. I don’t want you to keep it bottled up.” She pauses, considers for a moment, and then laughs. “Maybe we can find you a really good therapist.”
She can’t see his face, but she’s sure she knows the face he’s making, his nose wrinkled as if something smells bad. “Me in therapy? Can you imagine?”
“Might be good for you,” Rose says, her thumb still running across the skin of his hand. “If we could find the right person. Wouldn’t work if you had to keep secrets. Maybe Torchwood could set you up.”
“I’ll think about it.” From his tone of voice, he absolutely will not think about it, but that’s all right. Rose has years to convince him. He presses a kiss to Rose’s hair, and her smile grows.
“Are you hungry?” she asks idly. “There’s a place down the street you might like.” Her smile becomes a grin. “And then tomorrow we can try grocery shopping.”
The Doctor scoffs. “Can’t believe this is what I’ve become. Oncoming Storm, Destroyer of Worlds, now relegated to grocery shopping .”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got dramatic titles for days, and I still go grocery shopping.” Rose taps her thumb against his hand. “You’ll live.”
“That’s what you think,” he grumbles, but he gets up, bringing Rose with him. “Place down the street?”
They walk, hand in hand, to Rose’s favorite sandwich shop. Giggling, she orders for both of them, glancing at the Doctor and saying, “Just trust me.” He doesn’t argue, and they take their sandwiches to a nearby park, where they sit on a bench and watch the sun set between the buildings of London. By the time they get back to Rose’s flat, it’s completely dark out, and both Rose and the Doctor are exhausted.
“Oh, my God,” Rose says, standing in the doorway to her bedroom, staring at the unmade twin bed in the corner. “I forgot to do something about the bed.”
“We’ll be all right for another night,” the Doctor says, coming up behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist. “Don’t you think?”
Rose glances up at him, grinning. “Yeah, suppose we will. One more night.”
He changes into brand new pajamas, and she changes into the same old sweats and t-shirt, and for the second night in a row, she falls asleep with her head on his chest.
This will work out, she decides. There’s happiness to be found, in this universe— for both of them. And she’s determined to find it. (She thinks maybe it lives in the infinitesimal space between two people sharing a twin bed.)